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I did it again…Shit…How could I be so careless? When we first began to discuss adding punishment spankings to our relationship, Rick seemed hesitant and unsure. He finally asked me to list some bad habits or other behaviors I particularly wanted help in changing. One of the things I had specifically listed, second only to my highly developed procrastination skills, was my forgetfulness. I consistently leave electrical appliances plugged in and turned on, then head off to work never giving them another thought. My worst offenders are the iron, the almost empty coffeepot, and my curling irons. I really hate it when I do this because as Rick says, one of these days I am going to burn the house down. I know he is right, so, this was one of the things I had expressly agreed to be spanked over.
Now, for the second time in less than a week I had left for work with my two curling irons plugged in and turned on high. Actually, it was the third time this week. The first time, I had arrived home ahead of Rick and I had happened to be the one who spotted the glowing lights in the dim bedroom.
Puttering around straightening up, I had come into our bedroom to put away some clean clothes. In a flash I had unplugged them and had glanced around like a guilty shoplifter, even though I had known Rick wasn’t home yet. A naughty little voice had immediately begun arguing in favor of concealment. One of my very first spankings had been for this, and I didn’t want to upset Rick by requiring punishment a second time for the same offence. Besides, I really had been doing a lot better, the voice argued. And what Rick didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me, right? Despite twinges of a guilty conscious, I had protected my secret.
Three days later, the same red lights had glowed in the dimness, only this time, Rick had been the one to spot them. He had turned me over his knee and used his wide, firm hand on my bare bottom to try and exact a measure of behavior modification. He hadn’t been too severe, since I had done so much better (he thought.) I had been grateful that my duplicity had hidden my earlier lapse in responsibility.
But now, only a few days later, I had done it again. Where had my head been! To make matters worse, this time when Rick called me into the bedroom to see them, my hairspray bottle had been setting too close to the heat. The curling iron had melted a hole near the bottom and all the hairspray had run out, flooding the counter top and running down the front of the cabinet onto the carpet.
Standing there staring at the mess I felt my stomach drop to the bottom of my shoes. Shit! I knew I was in big trouble. Rick would not be pleased at finding himself in the unpleasant position of having to correct me for the same transgression in only a few days.
I grabbed an old hand towel and began cleaning up the mess. Rick stood there silently watching me. I didn’t know what to say as I wiped the last of the residue up and turned to face him. At that moment I couldn’t imagine what had ever possessed me to want punishment spankings added to our relationship.
“I’m so sorry Rick,” I said swallowing hard. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say.” He stated flatly. “Go get your paddle.”
“My paddle?” I said, feeling the color drain from my face. “Are you sure you need the paddle. I mean… I just forgot. I didn’t lie or try to slip something by you, I just forgot. Please Rick, I just forgot,” I said desperately, conveniently forgetting that I had already slipped this by him once this week.
“Barb,” he said, “It’s only been a couple of days since the last time you did this. Obviously, my hand didn’t make a strong enough impression. I intend to rectify that situation this time. Now go get it.”
I knew better than to argue when he spoke to me like that. I forced myself to cross the room and opening the closet door; I took it off the shelf. Looking down at what I now held in my hands I felt my stomach knot in apprehension.
I will never forget the first time I saw that paddle. It was such a shock. Rick had never discussed picking one up, but there he had stood, holding it in one hand. It was a dark paddle that had been polished to a high sheen. It wasn’t terribly big, only about 12 inches long, including the handle, and about 4 inches wide. It was thin, but had been made out of some kind of hard wood and it stung like the blazes. The first time he had used it to set my butt on fire was after he found out that my driver’s license had been suspended because I hadn’t gotten around to paying a ticket.
I couldn’t believe he had never mentioned buying it. After all, punishment spankings had been my idea in the first place. I guess he had been saving it for a “special occasion.” Even now, just catching the cloudy glimpse of my reflection in the polished wood made those feelings come rushing back. My hands began to tremble as I retraced my steps and handed it to him.
“Go.” He said, pointing toward the livingroom. I walked ahead of him, my arms crossed and pulled tight against my body. Anticipation filled my stomach making me slightly nauseous, and between my legs I had a funny feeling that made me feel like I needed to go pee. I knew I didn’t really need to. I had felt that strange sensation anytime I was in an emotionally tense situation. As far back as Junior High I can remember a similar feeling as I waited for my trumpet solo and prayed that I wouldn’t screw up. Well, I had screwed up this time, and Rick was going to make sure I knew it, damn his inflexible soul.
“Head for your corner,” he said.
I did. Leaning my forehead against the cool wall, I waited for his next command. Did he want my pants down? Probably, but I waited for him to say so.
“Drop ’em,” he said, never one to disappoint a lady, “pants and panties and lift that shirt up.”
With fingers trembling so hard I could hardly unbutton them, I struggled to obey.
You know, I never get use to this. You would think after a while it wouldn’t bother me so much, but it always does. I hate baring myself for my upcoming punishment and I hate standing here staring at the textured patterns on the wall. The patterns have even begun to take on shapes, like clouds do. I looked for my familiar friends. Sure enough, Abraham Lincoln’s rugged features stare back at me intermixed with the Continent of Africa, a Ferby and the Chinese symbols for happiness.
With a soft snort, I closed my eyes and strained my ears to try and figure out where Rick was and what he was doing. Was he still standing there staring at me? I didn’t know for sure. I hadn’t heard him leave the room, but struggling to get my pants down had overwhelmed me to the point that I wasn’t sure I would have noticed. I wanted desperately to turn my head to see if he was there, but didn’t dare take the chance. I took a few deep silent breaths trying to calm the thudding of my heart so that I could hear better.
There! I could hear the soft clank of pots and pans as Rick finished up the dinner dishes I had been washing before he called me into the bedroom. It looked as though he intended for me to wait quite a while this time.
Standing there, my mind drifted back to the events that had lead up to the introduction of spankings. Believe it or not, this had been totally my idea. Rick had expressed reluctance at first. Later though, he confessed that he had several times ached to spank me during one of my bratty episodes, designed to provoke just such a response. Fearful of my reaction and society’s strictures, he had never done more than give me a playful swat.
Like many others, I have never figured out why discipline is something I have always craved. Being well behaved, it had rarely happened. As a child my favorite stories had always contained a strong disciplinary scene. Even years later I can still list dozens of book names, authors and the page numbers on which the incidents took place. Today as an adult, my favorite novels always contain a strong dominant hero who doesn’t put up with much crap from the heroine. When I am lucky enough to find a novel that contains a punishment scene or even the threat of punishment, I always guiltily list the page numbers in tiny print on the inside back cover to read over and over again.
When I met Rick, he had a strong no-nonsense personality that I was wildly attracted to. I instinctively knew that this was a man not accustomed to being pushed around. But to my dismay, after we had been married for over a year, he still hadn’t picked up on any of my subtle hints. Despite my brattiest efforts, I had only been able to elicit an occasional swat, given more in fun than in punishment. I knew I would have to be more direct, if I was ever going to receive the disciplinary boundaries that I so often dreamed about.
Screwing up my courage, I broached the topic and to my immense gratification found Rick initially hesitant, but quickly warming up to the idea. He later confessed that he had occasionally thought about it, but never to the extent that it had dominated my inner thoughts. That had only been about six months ago and this part of our relationship had blossomed quickly. Rick had quickly (too quickly!) gotten over his initial reluctance and had rapidly accepted his role as head of this household. Sure enough, just as I had read some place, there was a bittersweet edge to a disciplinary framework that I hadn’t fully understood. The biggest point being that spankings hurt!
I felt as though I had stood there for hours. The time seemed to drag on endlessly, but it had probably been less than 20 minutes. Now as I heard his footsteps approaching, it suddenly seemed way too short.
“Alright,” he said, “come lay across the arm of the couch and I’ll see if I can’t give you a reason to remember to unplug those things from now on.”
I turned and struggled to cross the few feet from my corner to the couch. Leaning forward I positioned myself the way I knew he wanted, legs straight, my toes just barely on the ground. Tears were already welling up in my eyes. The emotional toll caused when I disappointed Rick was not something I had contemplated in my earlier fantasies, either.
I buried my face in my hands and braced myself…waiting. But he did nothing immediately and the suspense was terrible. Rick has always been a man of few words. He has never perfected his lecture techniques, but let me tell you, this man is the master of anxious anticipation. The wait seems worse than anything he could do in the way of punishment. I lay there, my butt twitching in expectation, praying that he would just get on with it.
When the first spank finally came, it seemed almost anticlimactic, almost…but not quite. Then, as another and then another cracked against my bare backside, I knew that the climax had definitely not been reached. We were barely into the spanking, but it was already hurting. Oh god, it hurt. It hurt so bad. I had read stories about some woman who seemed to numb up after several stinging whacks. That never seems to happen to me. I felt each spank, and with each spank the pain became just a little more intense. I felt like my bottom was going to catch fire with every lick.
I began to cry aloud. “Owww, Owwww. Please stop Rick, please. You’re really hurting me.”
He didn’t answer, just kept up a slow, steady, rhythmic cadence that evoked an anguished wail from me each time he brought the paddle down. I tried so hard to lay still and not fight it, but by the 15 or 16 whack, I couldn’t seem to help it. I began squirming, trying to keep the paddle from making such solid contact with my butt. Rick countered that trick by pushing me more firmly against the back of the couch and pressing his left hand strongly in the small of my back. Hardly missing a beat, the paddle continued to fall, relentlessly.
I didn’t think I was going to be able to stand many more. “That’s enough,” I wailed. “No more, please, no more. I am sure I won’t forget again.”
Rick rarely answers back and sure enough he ignores my pleas and continues spanking, first on one side and then the other. Up and down, covering the entire expanse of my backside from the crest of my cheeks to the middle of my thighs.
“Oh god, oh god, ohhhh, ohhhh,” I sobbed. I was reaching the point where I was unable to form a coherent plea. “Stop, it’s too much…I…ohh…not there, not there again…it hurts,” I pleaded desperately, “…nooo…nooo…nooo more.”
Rick gave me a sharp crack on the tender crease where my butt meets my thigh. With a sobbing shriek one of my hands involuntarily flew back to try and cover the burning area. “That is going to cost you,” I hear him growl, as he quickly grabs my wrist and pins it firmly to the small of my back. He pops the same spot on the other leg, eliciting another sobbing shriek.
Oh god, will it ever be over? It has to be over soon, it just has to be. I am sure that I can’t bear anymore. But the paddle continues to fall, back and forth as Rick now begins to concentrate on the tops of my thighs. My legs are kicking out with each whack and I know I am going to feel this spanking every time I sit down for the next few days.
Finally he stops and lays his hand gently on my burning flesh, testing the surface temperature. I know my backside must be bright red. Even though he has stopped, the pain seems to continue to build.
“Is it finished? Are you done? Are you?” I sob. “Please tell me it’s over.”
“It’s over Babe,” he says and gently helps me to my feet. I am shaking and trembling from the trauma of this spanking. Rick carefully eases my pants and panties back up and takes me in his arms. I bury my face in his chest and continue to cry.
We sit down on the couch and he hugs me tightly, helping me position myself so that there is not too much pressure on my backside. Despite the fact that I have just been soundly spanked, I love this part. Rick is so gently and kind and he rarely denies me the comfort of his arms after the spanking has been delivered. He did once though, after the compilation of events that lead up to my driver’s license being suspended. Knowing he was that ticked at me truly was worse than the spanking and I remember sobbing so hard that I had trouble catching my breath.
But not this time, this time the warm strength of his arms made me feel truly loved. I relax and give myself over to the luxury of having a good cry. The tears act as a catharsis, cleansing me and removing a lot of negative baggage. My tears begin to slow and I know I owe Rick an apology.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” I say, looking up at him, still crying softly. “I won’t forget again, I promise.”
“I know, Babe, I know,” He says soothingly, using his thumb to wipe the tears from my cheeks. “I know you don’t mean to forget. Don’t cry anymore. I hate to see you cry.” That, for him, has been the bittersweet part of our disciplinary framework. He sighs and pushes my face back onto his chest.
Sitting here, my bottom throbbing and pulsing with a heartbeat of its own, I begin to remember why I finally got up enough courage to tell him about my spanking interests. This scenario: screwing up, being punished and then forgiven, touches a need so deep within my psyche that I can’t begin to explain it. All I know is that at this moment I love Rick with an intensity that overwhelms me.
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